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Miss Pettigrew rushed in before Viola could say a word. “I am quite certain there will be no such desecration in this play,” she said importantly. “We might hear a voice, perhaps, but there is no reason for someone to actually impersonate the Divine. Mr. Marlowe would never allow it.”

“We should make certain the preparations are proceeding satisfactorily,” Devin said, while Viola was trying to remember whether God appeared on the stage in the Noah play or not.

“Please inform Mr. Marlowe that his seat is waiting for him,” Miss Pettigrew said, indicating the chair beside her.

Viola saw Caitlin as soon as they entered the makeshift dressing area behind the stage. She was laughing with a plump man dressed in what looked like two white sheets with a wobbly halo suspended over his head.

“Maybe he’s an angel,” Devin said.

“I hope so,” Viola said.

She and Devin walked over, and Caitlin introduced Mr. Brisket.

“I do know His Grace, but I’m pleased to meet my lady duchess. I’m a butcher by trade,” Mr. Brisket told Viola. “Many a pork chop on Your Graces’ table came from my shop.”

“I am doubly pleased to meet you,” Viola said, smiling.

“Do you think your costume is quite secure, Mr. Brisket, or would you like a few more pins?” Caitlin asked.

“Goodness, my lady, if you put any more pins into my gown, I’m likely to clank as I walk,” Mr. Brisket said. Caitlin nodded and slipped away to help fix the tail on a young squirrel.

“What part are you playing, Mr. Brisket?” Viola asked, holding her breath.

“Well, I’m a lucky one, I am,” the butcher replied. “Can’t you guess?” He beamed at her. “I’ll give you a bit o’ my lines.” In a fine, plummy tone, he intoned: “Behold, I will destroy them with the earth.”

“You’re God,” Viola said hollowly.

“Trust you to catch it!” Mr. Brisket said. “I’m a bit worried about forgetting the bits about the length of the ark: three hundred cubits, it is, the breadth of it fifty cubits, and the height of it thirty cubits. Lady Caitlin has coached me on it. She’s a splendid young lady, she is.”

Viola nodded, looking around. Lavinia was across the room, pinning a large bow onto the bosom of a curvaceous woman.

“That’s Mrs. Noah. She’s a bit of a shrew,” chuckled Mr. Brisket. “This is a right lively play, Your Graces. These medieval people must have been a spirited bunch. No doubt but it’ll be a success. We’re having a second performance tomorrow night, did you know that?”

Devin nodded.

“All the tickets tonight were bought up by the gentry, which is good for those poor orphans. But our relatives will see it as well. Tomorrow night’s performance will be half-price, just for people like meself. Now isn’t that a splendid thing?”

“Absolutely,” Viola managed. God was a butcher in a sheet; Noah was a drunkard; Noah’s wife was a curvaceous shrew.

The audience was full of the worst tattlemongers in all London, people who could stir up a scandal-broth without the slightest encouragement. Lord knew what they would do when a bishop and an archdeacon left the performance in a fury.

Devin drew her to the side. “Don’t worry,” he advised.

“You’re laughing,” Viola accused.

“I’m not even chuckling.”

She shook her head at him. “You’re laughing inside.”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Viola moaned.

“Remember, the tickets are sold,” her husband said. “No one can get their money back. Besides, look at that.”

Caitlin was hugging one of the orphans, who was holding up his finger and weeping. Mr. Marlowe walked directly to her. “What seems to be the matter?” he asked.

“Come with me,” Viola whispered to Devin, walking in that direction. When they were close by, she swerved and stepped behind the curtain that served as Noah’s tent, pulling her husband with her.